


Teleology

by Moontyger



Category: Xenosaga
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:pyrefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>chaos and Canaan aren't so different: both of them unsure of the purpose of their existence, both powerful in their own way and yet afraid of making irrevocable mistakes. He can't say that, but what he can offer, he'll give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teleology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrefly/gifts).



The hangar of the Elsa is dark and completely silent when no one is using it. It's a small ship, but this space is comparatively vast, and it feels empty and echoing. As empty as an artificial heart: an organ made to feel nothing but what it's programmed to feel. Just a tool, as mechanical as the E.S.'s looming over him, a vessel for someone else to fill. Just like...

He stops, thoughts derailed before they can continue to their inevitable end, an end he has reached more than once and can't find a way to escape or change. But he's too alert - his programmed instincts too sharp - to allow him the luxury of vulnerability when he's not alone. Someone else is there, in darkness that suddenly feels oppressive, closing in on him although nothing else has moved. Somehow, he knows who it is before he turns, even before he hears the voice.

"It's dark in here. Would you like some light?" No censure and no judgment in the question, merely friendly concern. But that was chaos - quiet, considerate. And a complete enigma.

Instead of greeting him or replying to the question, he says the first thing that comes into his mind, words he's been holding back for months. "You're not a Realian."

"No, I'm not." Still serene, absolutely certain, even when he must hear the accusation behind the statement.

"And you're not an android." He walks around chaos - a slow, careful circle, golden-brown eyes flicking over every inch of him, from charcoal boots to the high collar of his bodysuit, and finally pronounces his verdict. "But you haven't aged a day." It's dark enough that a normal human wouldn't be able to see details, wouldn't be able to be sure, but Canaan has never been a normal human and isn't sure he can even imagine what it must be like.

chaos turns his head to follow his movements, and, finally, looks up to meet his gaze. "No," he replies quietly. "I haven't."

The answering smile is dark and cynical, a mere twist of lips. "What's your secret?"

"It's complicated." chaos keeps looking at him, turquoise eyes seeming to nearly glow in the dimness, as though there's a light behind them that his body can't quite contain. "Let's sit down if you want to talk. I'll get the lights."

"Leave them off. You don't need them any more than I do."

chaos shrugs, but he sits on some nearby crates rather than remaining standing. "I knew you recognized me. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Canaan prowls after him, sitting close enough for it to be slightly uncomfortable. He wants to be threatening, to intimidate him into staying. He's not sure why; there's nowhere to run on a spaceship in transit, and he doubts chaos is the type to flee anyway. "We all have secrets."

chaos just looks at him with that understanding expression, like Canaan's a real person and he's worried about him. No one looks at Canaan like that and he doesn't know how to respond, any more than he knew how fifteen years ago. "I knew there was something different about you from the start. No normal person should have been able to be my navigator on that mission."

chaos nods, a quick flash of silver hair as his head lowers, removing the pressure of eyes that always seem to see too much. Canaan isn't sure why he thinks that either; even if he sees things no one else does, chaos doesn't speak of them.

This is getting him nowhere. "You know things, don't you? About me. Things I've forgotten." 'Data loss', the scientists and technicians who'd examined him had called it, but it feels more personal than the cold terminology can encompass. To them, it's just data and its loss is merely an inconvenience, but to him, it's memories, part of his identity that has somehow been lost along the way. Canaan should be used to being treated as a thing instead of a person by now and he wonders if it means he's defective that he isn't. Maybe that's part of the data loss, too.

chaos pauses before answering, and Canaan braces himself for a lie. "That's something you need to find out for yourself. I'm sorry." His apologetic smile could break hearts with its sincerity. Canaan can't say he's happy with this reply, but it's better than if he'd tried to deceive him.

They sit in silence, neither one quite looking at the other, before chaos tries to break the awkwardness again. "Why don't we move somewhere more comfortable? It's late; no one should be around."

"No." It was kind of him to offer, but chaos was always kind. Canaan didn't want it. He didn't need meaningless gestures of a friendship he was sure no one would want. Didn't need it and, lately, suspected it might be a risk he couldn't afford.

"Another time, then." And he was gone before he could refuse.

* * *

chaos isn't about to leave it at that. Canaan pretends to be a machine, all strength and professionalism with no need for anyone, but he can't look at him without seeing all the cracks, all the broken places that it takes him effort to hold together. It's part of who he is: he sees all their weaknesses. Worse, he feels them: an ache deep inside, like pain from a limb no longer there.

He'd have sympathy for Canaan regardless. Their situations aren't so different, though he can't explain it to him - both of them unsure of the purpose of their existence, both powerful in their own way and yet afraid of making irrevocable mistakes. He can't say that, but what he can offer, he'll give.

A few nights pass before he seeks him out again. chaos never intended to wait long; the loneliness and self-doubt calls him, an endless alarm he can't (and doesn't want to) avoid. He doesn't blame the others for not seeing it, though he wouldn't be surprised if Canaan did, if he thought it was more of the usual anti-Realian sentiment he must experience all the time. It's not; they aren't such hypocrites as to avoid him when they've welcomed MOMO with open arms. Rather, they have interpreted Canaan's aloofness as a desire to be alone. In other circumstances, some of them might be more insightful, but it isn't as though they don't have other things to preoccupy them.

So it is chaos alone who goes looking for him, who finds him in the hangar bay yet again. The lights are on this time and Canaan is staring at the E.S. Asher with an expression so unguarded it feels like an invasion to have seen it.

"Do you want to take her out again?"

"No." It might even be true. Flying the Asher won't let him re-live the last time he flew it, won't change anything that happened, and, if merely sitting in the cockpit would bring back his lost memories, Canaan would have them already. chaos doesn't ask him to explain. He can understand wishing for what might have been.

"Would you like to take me up on my earlier offer instead?" He phrases it as a question, but doesn't intend to accept no for an answer. Not this time. Canaan must be able to tell, because he nods. chaos politely chooses to overlook the accompanying sigh.

"Good. I'm hungry." He might not truly be the teenage boy he appeared, but his body still needed fuel. Even if it didn't, chaos would still at least pretend to eat. People did too much bonding over meals to do without them. "I think there's still some curry left."

He leads the way, footsteps silent even on the metal deck of the ship, and reheats the curry while Canaan waits. He doesn't mind; there's something almost relaxing about waiting on someone else on occasion. And chaos is certain Canaan hasn't had nearly enough experience with anyone doing anything for him. He was fed and clothed, of course, given medical care and all the rest, but for most of his existence, it was merely the required maintenance for a useful appliance, not something done for him personally.

Canaan is silent, but he can feel him watching, can sense the pressure of his gaze even when he starts to eat. "Do you not like Shion's curry? I could get you something else."

"Why are we here?" It's more a demand than a question and Canaan has made no attempt to even sound polite.

"I was hungry."

"Then why am _I_ here? You could have eaten alone."

chaos smiles at him and shrugs, trying to set him at ease. "I wanted company." He means it to be disarming, but Canaan's suspicious expression doesn't change. "All right. I wanted to talk to you."

He sighs, but at least he looks resigned rather than angry. "Then talk."

It isn't the opening chaos had hoped for, but he tries anyway. "You aren't the only one who doubts, you know."

No reply, just another of those cynical smiles. chaos takes some time to eat a little more, waiting to see if Canaan will do the same. He does, finally, though he acts as if it's more of a duty than a pleasure. A shame to treat good food that way, but chaos doesn't comment.

They eat in silence and, when he finally speaks, it's quiet enough that even someone sitting at the next table over would be unable to hear him. "I think about Old Miltia, too," he says. "About what happened fifteen years ago. About whether we could have done anything differently and made it turn out better than it did." chaos stares at the table instead of at Canaan as he says it, wondering if he'll believe it. He has a great deal of insight into those around him, but he can't see everything. Sometimes he wishes he saw less than he does, but at the moment, he could use more insight.

The silence continues, and at last he looks up. Canaan's gaze is openly speculative now, with tinges of something else. Sadness? Regret? He can't quite read it and he wishes he would say something.

chaos swings his legs, calves thudding rhythmically against the legs of the bench; fakes casualness, like the child he can't remember being, and considers what else he should say. "Do you ever talk to Jin?" It was Jin who'd given him the data that caused him so many problems; it would make sense to talk to him about it. But he's sure Canaan never has.

"You know I haven't." chaos nods, yielding the point. "I don't need to talk to anyone. I'm a Realian; I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me getting depressed. You don't need to worry about me at all."

Canaan is glaring, annoyance in his eyes and expression as well as his voice. He clearly wants chaos to believe it, and if he were someone else, it might work. "It bothered you when Doctus refused to use your name. Why?"

He's smart; chaos doesn't have to spell it out for him any further. Canaan sighs and his shoulders visibly relax. His whole body looks less tense than chaos has ever seen it, though he's not so optimistic as to believe it means he's won. "All right. But I don't know how to be whatever it is you want from me."

"I don't want anything. Not in the way you mean." chaos smiles, allowing himself to relax in turn. He could use someone to talk to. Nephilim isn't really available and KOS-MOS doesn't yet remember. He could do a lot worse than Canaan.

* * *

He might have agreed to the idea, but Canaan isn't looking forward to the next time chaos wants to meet and he's not about to go looking for him himself. He's terrible at small talk and hasn't the slightest idea how to act around people who don't want him to do something for them. All these years and even the idea is still foreign; he was created for a purpose, not to be someone's friend.

But chaos surprises him. "I know you've done repeated Encephelon dives to try to recover your memories and they've all failed. Why don't we try using my memories instead?"

He'd never thought of it before and never would have felt comfortable asking even if he had, but as soon as chaos mentions it, he feels something that might be hope for the first time in a long time. "You don't mind?"

"We were both there," is all he says, and Canaan supposes it's answer enough.

They begin further in than he usually does, meeting Jin in the midst of a city falling to ruin around them. He doesn't know why chaos chose to skip the approach to the planet and doesn't ask; it's not important. He's seen it so many times by now that he's sure it wouldn't tell him anything he doesn't already know.

It's easy to forget that they aren't really there, aren't really experiencing it all over again; easier still to forget that these are chaos's memories rather than his own. It all feels so familiar, like his whole life has only been repeating these hours over and over, world without end. It's not true, and yet it is; these were the moments that changed everything.

He tenses as they approach the moment he always loses it, watches Jin and Margulis fight with a growing sense of dread. When chaos calls out to him, he tries not to look, but he can't stop himself. He's already done it; he can't change it now. So he looks, and for one brief moment, he sees something different. A shadow in the sky, and he feels himself falling, feels strong arms catch him, though he hadn't thought anyone was close enough. He's gone blind, or at least he can't see, but Canaan can still hear chaos calling his name before he blacks out entirely.

The next time he opens his eyes, it is to meet chaos's worried gaze. He's let him out of the Encephelon pod, but they haven't left the room, and being held like this makes him wonder if he'd only imagined what had happened. Had he really collapsed then, or was it merely an extension of the same problem he's always had, another manifestation of the block in his mind?

"You seem to be uninjured. Are you all right?" Bright aqua eyes examine him, watching his every minute change in expression intently.

Canaan nods, not trusting his voice yet, and pushes himself to a sitting position. "It didn't work."

"No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to risk yourself like that."

"Don't be stupid." Risking themselves was what Realians were for; the data was far more important than his personal well-being. By now, Canaan even believes it himself; it has tormented him so long that he'd consider injury a small price to pay for the recovery of what he'd lost.

chaos looks like he'd like to protest, but he shakes his head instead. "Can you stand? I'll help you back to your bunk."

* * *

He'd wanted to see Canaan more often, to spend time getting to know him. Time to build a relationship, to make them friends rather than allies barely taking the first hesitant steps toward something more. He'd meant to, but chaos should have known better. Time is always shorter than you think.

Instead, he's looking for him to tell him another crisis has arisen and they have to move out, that time's almost up, for all of them.

But even now, approaching the end of all things, he can be stopped by the look on Canaan's face: a lost look, the expression of someone who has made a terrible decision that there's no going back from.

"Sometimes just existing can hurt others. chaos, you know, don't you? That I am such an existence."

"You remember?" But he knows he does. He wouldn't look this way if he didn't, if he were just guessing in the hopes of finding out more. No, he knows, and he's slowly being crushed by the weight of the knowledge chaos had hoped he'd never find.

"Yes, with the information on Program Canaan... and all this data, there's no way I wouldn't remember." chaos bows his head in something like grief. He'd known this day would come, yet he still wasn't ready.

"But you didn't desire that. It's not by your own will. You're not responsible." He tries, but he knows even as he says it that it won't be enough. Canaan has never let himself take the easy way out, never given himself a break. Now, knowing what he is, what he's done, he's even less likely to change. But he has to try.

He looks up again, meeting Canaan's eyes and trying to convey with that one look how much sorrow he feels, how much he hates to see him in such pain.

"I am a Realian. The only one who can give me a reason to exist is the one who created me. chaos, if only that had been you." Canaan stares at chaos, eyes filled with confusion and a vague, hopeless longing that it hurts to look at too closely.

chaos had never created life, never had reason for a Realian of his own, but right now, he wishes he had; wishes he had known enough to be able to change Realian programming so this end could be avoided. But that is not his role.

Even as Canaan stands there, solid and alive, chaos almost thinks he can see him disappearing, dissolving into smoke and memory before his eyes. This is the last time; his last chance. And because it is, he steps closer, wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, as though he can keep him here and fix it all by sheer force of will, as though the strength of this body is enough to hold him together.

And then he kisses him: long, slow, and sweet, filled with all the things that might have been and now will never be. There's no time, but he kisses him anyway, with everything he is. And Canaan kisses back, clinging to chaos as though he's the only sane thing left in a world gone mad. The universe could end around them; reality could be reset yet again, and still he wouldn't stop, not until the last possible moment.

The universe doesn't end, not yet, but the kiss has to. Panting, they lean against each other, delaying the inevitable. He knows nothing has changed. It's too late for that. So he pulls himself away and only lets himself looks back once. "I won't forget you." Cold comfort, but all he can offer. He never forgets any of them.

And then, chaos walks away.

  



End file.
